


Fairytale of New York

by flibbertygigget



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Relationships, Christmas, Divorced Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Fade to black sex, Fluff, M/M, Midlife Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: In which Ron Weasley gets a divorce, quits his job, falls in love, and buys an official Midlife Crisis Broomstick. Happy fucking Christmas.Written for hprarepairnet's and slytherdornet's Winter Challenge.





	Fairytale of New York

“I think we should consider seeing other people,” Hermione said. Ron blinked.

“You mean like an open relationship?” he said, surprised.

“No, I mean a break. A permanent break.”

“Oh,” Ron said. Hermione wasn’t looking him in the eye, choosing instead to fiddle with her rapidly cooling soup. “Okay.” That got her attention.

“You mean, you’re going to just accept this?” she said skeptically. Ron shrugged.

“I might have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but I’d have to be in a coma to think that this wasn’t a possibility,” he said.

“I’m really sorry, Ron. I love you, but I can’t-“

“Hey, I get it,” he said. What he wanted, more than anything else, was to reach across the table and take her hand in his. He had a feeling that would fall under “teaspoon” classification, though, so he did the next best thing. “Erm, so how’s the soup?” Hermione gave a small, wet sort of laugh.

“I-It’s fine,” she said. She took a deep breath. “It’s fine. Great, even.”

“Good, that’s good,” Ron said. “So, do you think we should, you know, discuss things now, or…” Hermione sighed softly.

“We might as well get it over with,” she said.

* * *

It took less than a month for Ron to pack up a couple boxes of things he could consider his and move into the flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He had been hesitant at first, but it was the only place he could find on such short notice since George and Angelina had finally admitted that their rapidly expanding brood needed more than two bedrooms. Besides, the last thing that Ron wanted was to drag the whole process out more than it had to be. He and Hermione could figure out the details just as well living separately.

He really wished that their marriage breaking down had been anything approaching a surprise, but the truth was that they had been falling apart for almost as long as they’d been together. Worse, he honestly had no idea what he could have done to fix things so that the end wasn’t inevitable. They were just too… too _them_ , too young, their differences causing fights rather than covering each other’s weak spots, their jobs making it so that they could go weeks without an actual conversation, their conversations coming out forced and stilted because, at the end of the day, they were just two people who had nothing in common except for a war and a best friend.

And despite all that, they _had_ loved each other. Hell, Ron still loved Hermione, loved her with an all-encompassing ache that he didn’t think would ever leave him. He loved her, he loved Rose and Hugo, he even loved his in-laws, he just… he knew that love wasn’t enough. Love meant nothing when he had to wake up every morning and face the fact that he couldn’t remember what it was like to enjoy each other’s company.

Maybe this way would be better. It was a testament to how fucked up things had gotten that Ron actually found that thought a comforting, realistic possibility. Maybe this way they could concentrate on their days at work without worrying about the arguments that would inevitably erupt in the evening, on parenting their kids instead of jockeying for their time and affection. Ron even held out hope that they could eventually find a way to go back to being best friends instead of the spouses everyone, including the two of them, had expected them to be after the war.

The lack of sex would suck, but they hadn’t had sex in almost a year anyways, so quite frankly it wasn’t much of a loss.

In all honesty, Ron was tired, as tired as Hermione had sounded when she suggested the divorce. Their marriage had become a full-time job when Ron knew from his parents that it should have been anything but. Their wedding vows had stretched before him like an endless wasteland, but Ron was the sort of person who would rather stick with something in the vain hope of somehow fixing it than admit it was fucked and throw in the towel. Sunk cost fallacy was what Hermione had fondly called it, back when they had still been able to joke with each other. Point was, if he had been anything like Hermione, they would have gotten divorced long ago. He’d just been waiting for her to tell him she was just as done as he was, and now that they were over all he could feel was relief.

* * *

Custody, Ron thought, was going to be a fucking _nightmare_.

Not that they were planning on fighting with each other, mind you. They were disturbing their kids’ lives enough without something like that. But he and Hermione had tried talking about it back at the restaurant, had broached the subject a couple more times over the few weeks he’d taken to pack his things, and Ron could already tell that there wasn’t going to be an easy answer.

If one of them had only had more time, it would have been over and done with, but the fact was that Hermione was head of the DRCMC and he was an Auror. Both those jobs meant long hours and sporadic weekends, and it had been hard enough caring for Rose and Hugo when they were together.

Ron was all for a general policy of custody going to whoever was free that evening, but Hermione insisted on having an actual agreement. It would be better to make sure, she argued, that if they ever had a complete falling out one of them wouldn’t snatch complete custody from the other. Ron personally thought that if getting divorced wasn’t enough of a falling out, nothing would be, but he also understood Hermione’s point. She had always wanted things set in stone, whether that be a study schedule or a law protecting house elves.

“Maybe I should just quit,” Ron said on the day when they had agreed to meet over lunch and finally hammer out all the details before making the divorce official.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, George has been looking for someone to manage the Hogsmeade store so that he can go back to focusing on the R&D side of things. I could work things out with him so that I could have my evenings free, and you could have the kids on weekends and holidays. You wouldn’t even have to worry about getting called in some weekends, because as long as it’s not one of the Hogwarts Hogsmeade weekends I’d be able to take them pretty easily.”

“Ron, it’s nice of you to offer, but I won’t have you throwing away your career because of this,” Hermione said. Ron shook his head.

“But don’t you see? I wouldn’t be throwing my career away, I’d just be taking on a new one.”

“Ron, you’re 35. Getting established in a new career at this point-“

“It won’t be a problem,” Ron said with more confidence than he felt. “I’ve been wanting to quit for ages, actually. I just didn’t because… well…”

“Because you knew I’d react like this,” Hermione finished with a sigh. “I can’t say I understand it, Ron. I mean, there are plenty of people who would kill to be in your shoes. Going from an Auror to a shopkeeper just seems like a waste.”

“It isn’t,” he assured her. “Hell, George has been talking about going international for ages. Maybe I’ll end up head of a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Paris or New York. Besides, anything to get this custody shit sorted out.”

“I suppose… if you really don’t think you’ll regret it…”

“I won’t,” Ron said. “Trust me, I’ve had this figured out for a while. You won’t have to worry about me.”

* * *

It took him more time than he expected to get used to working on a consistent schedule. No more being called on in the middle of the night, no more unexpected forty-eight-hour shifts, no more trips to St. Mungo’s because of a misaimed hex or slow Shield Charm.  Just bog-standard weekday hours of eight to four and one weekend of work a month due to the Hogwarts Hogsmeade trips.

He was happier now. It was hard to admit that. He had sacrificed so much time and put in so much energy that it had felt like the end of the world to give up being an Auror, but he was happier now. It was sad that he saw more of Rose and Hugo post-divorce, even if the weekday evenings meant that he was forced to be the mean parent more often than not. Hell, he even saw more of Hermione now than before, which was just ridiculous.

Getting back in touch with Rose and Hugo. Navigating his and Hermione’s new, slightly awkward dynamic that nonetheless needed to exist. Even learning to see Harry as his best friend again instead of his distant and demanding boss. There was no doubt that, despite feeling slightly adrift due to the ridiculous amount of free time he suddenly possessed, Ron was better with a new job and a new marital status than he had been in a long time.

So, okay, he went a little crazy. Was it his fault that the Firebolt Mark Four was on sale in anticipation of the Mark Five being released in November?

* * *

“So,” Hermione said, fiddling with the combination watch and schedule organizer that Ron had gotten her for their anniversary two years pre-divorce, “how are we going to do Christmas?”

“I dunno,” Ron said. “I mean, we always did Christmas Eve at your parents’ place and Christmas Day at mine, so maybe we could just…” He made a squiggly sort of gesture that Hermione nevertheless managed to interpret correctly.

“It’s not about that,” she said. “I mean, didn’t you say that you were going to be moving to New York?”

“Yep, week of Halloween. George wants to open the first international store on the first of November. I just got all the paperwork approved and a flat set up.”

“And the kids have break the whole week of Christmas up through New Year’s…” Hermione trailed off awkwardly.

“Look, I’ve got the evenings thing all worked out, Apparition points and all.”

“So you want them for break?”

“I thought we agreed that you’d be taking them for breaks?” Ron said. “There’s a reason I wanted it like that, you know. I can get Christmas Day off, but those couple of weeks before Christmas will be insanely busy. We can renegotiate when they go to Hogwarts, but for now it’s just not happening.” He frowned. “Do you need child care? Because you know that Mum would love to have them around.”

“I’ve already talked to her,” Hermione said. “I was just… I was worried that you’d be upset with me. For – For monopolizing them.”

“Me? Nah. I’ll be fine. You just concentrate on doing your thing and I’ll concentrate on doing mine.” Hermione was staring at him now, looking weirdly as though she was about to cry. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ron. I’m just,” Hermione let out a half-sob of absolute frustration, “why the hell couldn’t we have worked this well when we were married?” Ron shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe we just work better as friends than as lovers.” Hermione let out a surprised snort.

“Lovers? Ron, you make it sound so salacious.” Ron wriggled his eyebrows, and they both broke down in a fit of giggles.

* * *

After a month and a half of working in New York, Ron could see why Hermione was so worried. The physical distance was… well, it was difficult, even with the fact that he could Apparate or take his Firebolt Mark Four back to England at any point. Somehow it was only hitting him now that his life was really changing, and not just for the better.

A week. An entire fucking week without his kids, without helping them with their homework or teaching them Wizard Chess or just seeing Rose and Hugo’s faces. Usually his days and evenings were so busy that he collapsed into a coma over the weekend, that or played pub league Quidditch. Now his evenings were huge stretches of nothing. It messed up the rhythm that he had easily settled into after quitting his job and getting divorced, and Ron was nothing if not a creature of habit.

On Monday of that horrible week, he resisted temptation and spent a restless evening with a Quidditch magazine. On Tuesday, simply out of a lack of anything else to do, he decided to go out.

He didn’t like American Wizarding bars. They had none of the coziness and charm of the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks. They were almost like the Muggle places that he and Harry had sometimes gone to during Auror training, places that Harry had enjoyed and Ron had put up with for the sake of his best friend. But Ron couldn’t stand another day alone, so he went out nonetheless.

The bar he chose was a little bit off the beaten path, in the Wizarding section of Muggle Chinatown. Here, he thought, there was no chance of bumping into one of his employees and them seeing what a sad sack of shite their boss was, broken up over spending a week without his kids. The place was more like the Hog’s Head than the Three Broomsticks, but that suited Ron’s mood just fine. He got a pint of the cheapest shite they had on tap and sat in a darkish corner, shamelessly eavesdropping on the bartenders. One of them was apparently ancient and seemed to be in charge, while the other was a young woman with bushy hair and a businesslike demeanor that made Ron think fondly of Hermione at her most stubborn.

“I ain’t stayin’ past my shift, Mike,” the woman said. “If he ain’t showin’ up, then you fire him. Don’t drag me into it.”

“Calm down, Talia. He’ll be here at the last minute, but he’ll be here. You know how Snape is.” Ron jumped a little.

“Still think you should fire the old bastard,” Talia growled. Ron relaxed. Though “bastard” was right, the Snape who’d terrorized the lot of them wasn’t all that old. It had been ridiculous, he thought, to have gotten so jumpy over what was an absolutely normal last name even for Muggles.

“Can’t. Who else would put up with your whining?”

“I could walk out right now, you know. You think you can fill my place, you cheap bastard?”

“Bah! In this town, I’d have a line out the door the moment I put up the sign sayin’ we’re hiring.”

“Want to bet me on that one?”

“No need.” Ron froze, almost choking on the gulp he’d taken of his beer. He would know that voice anywhere.

“Snape, you bastard!” Talia said, turning to the door with a grin.

“Talia, you whore!” Ron bit his lip to keep from laughing. Apparently, this was considered a normal greeting in this bar.

“You almost made me quit my job.”

“Pity. I’ll have to be later next time.” Snape finally stepped into one of the intermittent splashes of light, and Ron did his best to stare inconspicuously.

If he hadn’t remembered the professor’s voice like it was yesterday, he would have almost certainly missed the man. Snape was… well, he was older for one thing, his formerly black hair gone iron-grey. Unlike before, the lines on his face spoke of years of laughter as well as stress, and even the scars from where You-Know-Who’s snake had tried to tear his throat out looked far more faded and less hideous than when Ron had last seen them.

Ron was plunged into the past like freezing cold water. The last time he’d seen Snape had been years ago, after he and Hermione had been engaged but before they’d got married. That would have been… Merlin, fifteen years back. It had been March of 2000, Ron remembered, and he’d been annoyed to have to work on his birthday. What a kid he’d been back then.

“Right, you’re free to go,” he’d said, none too kindly. “Try not to get arrested again, Professor.” Snape had rolled his eyes.

“I’m hardly your professor anymore, Mr-“

“Auror.”

“ _Auror_ Weasley.” Ron had heard the sarcastic venom in Snape’s voice. At the time he had been pissed off; now he was just mortified. What kind of egotistical idiot had he been at twenty, to lord his stupid position over someone who had done at least ten times what he had for the war? But at the time he hadn’t realized what a complete tit he was being, so his reply to Snape’s sarcasm had been bloody typical.

“Watch your tone with me, Snape. Do you want Azkaban again for refusing to comply with a Ministry-appointed Auror?”

“Trust me, Auror Weasley,” Snape had said, pure hatred in his eyes. “I don’t plan on being imprisoned by your Ministry ever again.” True to his word, after being released Snape had disappeared, and not even Harry had been able to figure out where he could have gone.

Ron hadn’t thought about those first few years for a long time. In an attempt to fix the wrongs You-Know-Who had committed during his takeover, the Ministry had overcorrected. Plenty of innocent or close-to-innocent people had been locked up – and even without the Dementors, Azkaban was a civil rights nightmare – and plenty of the guilty had gotten off scot-free if they made a big enough donation to the rebuilding effort.

Ergo, Lucius Malfoy, the motherfucker, had walked, and Snape, a genuine war hero, had spent two years in that hellhole. It had taken the efforts of Harry and Hermione combined to get him out and get the course reversal going, and Ron was ashamed to admit that he had been complicit. He’d wanted anyone connected to You-Know-Who to burn, and he hadn’t cared who had got caught up in the carnage.

Yeah, there was a reason his memory was rather… selective up until Christmas of 2000.

But now Snape was here, and just seeing the Potions Master, looking so much older and more content – it was like a punch in the gut, a reminder that Ron wasn’t as squeaky clean as he sometimes pretended he was. It was as if the older man was a representation of all the worst parts of him, of every time he misjudged or stood aside as he watched injustice be done. Looking at Snape, Ron could finally understand just what had made his marriage fall apart, and yet the bastard just continued, as though he couldn’t feel Ron having an existential crisis right behind him.

Ron stood up almost automatically, leaving the door flapping as he ran into the freezing New York night. Dimly, he could still hear Snape, asking Talia about him as though the kid could ever understand. Ron had thought that he was doing alright, with his new job and new broomstick and new lease on life, but now he’d just been proven terribly, horribly wrong. He wasn’t dealing with shit.

* * *

Ron had no bloody clue why he went back to the bar the next night. Maybe he wanted a familiar face amid all his loneliness and uncertainty. Maybe he was just a bloody masochist. Either way, he bought the same shitty beer, sat in the same dark corner, and waited for Snape to come in for his shift. Sure enough, the bastard came in at seven sharp, bringing a flurry of snowflakes through the door behind him.

“Cold as all hell out there,” Snape grumbled. Talia snickered.

“Didn’t you go to Hogwarts? Scotland’s worse than little old NYC.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Snape said. “My bloody boots are leaking as well.”

“Mine ain’t,” said Talia with a grin. “Got them just last week. They’re genuine dragon hide.”

“Genuine as a peddler’s love potion,” Snape shot back. “Be honest, you bought that from that cart that got shut down last weekend.”

“Better than you, Mr. Wet Socks.”

“Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”

“Aw, someone had an American Girl Doll growing up.” Snape looked a little puzzled. “It’s a Muggle thing. And an American thing.”

“Well, I got that last bit,” Snape said.

“Do I have to make a joke about you growing up during the Great Depression now? Because I can, old man.”

“Not that old,” said Snape lightly. “Just raised in a slum on the wrong side of the River Irk.”

“You have slums in the UK?” Snape shrugged.

“We did back in the ‘70s. Some of them got knocked down to build council housing – not that that’s much better. Cokeworth, though, Cokeworth just got abandoned. Last time I was there you could go from one end to the other without meeting another living soul.”

“Hey, Snape,” Talia said with the air of desperately trying to change from an awkward subject, “the new guy’s here. You think you’ll scare him off again?” Ron could feel himself growing red as both turned to look at him. He ducked down into his pint, hoping beyond hope that he was far enough in the shadows to not be recognized.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t scare him off.”

“I dunno,” said Talia with a grin. “You’re pretty scary.”

“I live to please.”

“Doubt that. But seriously though,” her voice lowered, and Ron had to strain to hear her, “he was weird. It was like the moment you walked in he froze.”

“Why on earth would he do that?”

“Maybe he knows you. He sounds like a Brit as well, and it’s not like y’all have lots of wizard spaces, not like here.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Snape said, but he looked decidedly nervous, glancing over at Ron. “About how old was he? I can’t tell from here.”

“Dunno. Thirty? Forty?”

“I fucking hope it was closer to thirty than forty.” Ron could barely hear Snape, he was muttering so quietly now.

“Er, he was closer to forty, I think,” Talia said. “Sorry, man.”

“Fuck,” Snape said. He wasn’t even bothering to be subtle in looking over at Ron now. “Can you cover for me?”

“What? For how long?”

“However long it takes for him to get the hell out of here.”

“What the hell are you smokin’?”

“Look, Talia.” Snape’s voice had turned deadly serious, and for the first time Ron really recognized the man. Not the professor that he and his friends had hated for his pettiness and tough grading, but the warrior he’d glimpsed at Order meetings and Ministry trials. “There’s a reason why I left England. I was – Fuck, to them I still am a person who will be recognized to people of a certain age.”

“You’re talking about that war y’all had,” Talia said. She was serious as well, and it suddenly struck Ron how these people didn’t know half of what Snape had done. They didn’t know half of it, and yet Talia still seemed willing to cover him for as long as it took Ron to leave. She was willing to fuck up her night; Ron hadn’t even been able to keep from heckling the man when he was her age.

“Yes,” Snape said, sounding exhausted. “Yes, I am.”

“Alright, go. Get out of here.” Snape seemed to hesitate for a moment. That shouldn’t have surprised Ron, but it did. “Go on.” Snape pulled his coat around him and turned back towards the door. Ron felt almost sick.

“WAIT!” Ron hadn’t meant to shout, hadn’t meant to jump up from his chair and slop beer down his front. He hadn’t ever imagined having to speak with Snape again, and these weren’t ideal circumstances at all, but he couldn’t just let the man leave without doing _something_.

There was a strong possibility that, after three and a half pints in under an hour, he was at least a little bit drunk.

Snape froze, motionless except for one hand, which was slowly creeping towards where he no doubt had stashed his wand. The few other patrons at the bar were staring, and out of the corner of his eye Ron could see that Talia looked ready to stab him Muggle style.

“Wait,” he said again. “Look, Professor-“ Snape spun around, and Ron barely got his Shield Charm up before a bolt of light crashed into him, throwing him backwards a few steps. “You didn’t have to do that! I just want to talk!”

“Come to arrest me again, Weasley?” Snape snarled. “I thought this was a bit out of your jurisdiction.”

“I’m not here to arrest you. I’m not even an Auror anymore.” That made Snape pause. Maybe he had been under the same delusion as Ron – that their world was static. “I just want to talk to you. That’s it. Honest.” After a long, tense pause, Snape slowly lowered his wand.

“Talia, do you mind if I take a moment,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on Ron.

“You sure you don’t want backup? Friends don’t let friends deal with drunk asshats alone.”

“I think I can take care of myself,” Snape said dryly. “Just mind the bar.” He nodded at Ron. “Upstairs.”

“Right. Brilliant.” Ron followed Snape up the dark, claustrophobic stairs into a first floor that was obviously being used as a storeroom.

“Well, Weasley,” Snape said, “why are you here?” His voice sounded bored, but its pitch was too perfect to be genuine. He was nervous still, Ron could tell, and every potential excuse that the redhead could have thought of was completely out of his reach.

“I’m not an Auror anymore,” Ron said. “I’m in charge of George’s New York store. We opened the day after Halloween.”

“That explains nothing.”

“I know it doesn’t.” Ron sat down on a tottering chair. “Look, I didn’t expect to see you working here any more than you expected to see me.”

“Maybe last night, but you knew who I was when you came in this evening.”

“You’re right. I did.”

“So why did you come?” Ron looked up at Snape. The older man was more than tense now. He was _afraid_ , afraid of what Ron being there meant, afraid of what Ron could do to the life that he had apparently put together post-Azkaban. Ron was suddenly swept up in the sickening need to reassure the Potions Master.

“I’m lonely, I guess,” he said.

“Lonely?” Well, _that_ had knocked Snape off-guard at least. “Why would you be lonely?”

“Hermione and I got divorced in June. When the kids were in school or daycare, I was able to pick them up evenings and let her have weekends, but now they’re on break and-“ He gulped, surprised to find that his eyes were burning. “And I won’t get to see them until Christmas Day, and after that not until into the new year. So I guess… I guess I just wanted a familiar face around. It’s harder than I thought, being alone in this bloody huge city.”

“And somehow your need for companionship, what, latched onto me of all people?”

“Yeah. Pretty ironic, huh?” When Snape looked baffled, Ron made a squiggly sort of gesture. Perhaps predictably, Snape was less adept at interpreting his squiggles than Hermione. “I mean, I was the one to drive you out back – back then, and now I’m trying to use you as a fucking crutch-“

“You are far too drunk for this conversation.” Ron started laughing. He pitched forward, and Snape caught him. “Bloody hell, Weasley.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You are absolutely pissed.” Ron laughed even harder, and even though Snape was sighing Ron thought he saw the corner’s of the other man’s mouth twitch.

“I’m not pissed. You – You’re pissed if you think I’m pissed.” Ron gulped down a giggle. “Pisser.”

“Go home, Weasley.”

“It’s just a flat. Nodda home.”

“Regardless, you should sleep this off before attempting conversation with anybody. Do you need a Side-Along for stability?”

“Prolly a good idea. I still leave eyebrows behind if I’m not careful.”

“Idiot boy,” Snape said as he heaved Ron to his feet, but he said it with such repressed fondness that Ron had to grin at him. He had never had an opportunity to really appreciate how much taller he was than his former professor.

“You know, you’re only a bit taller than Hermione,” Ron said. “I bet you wouldn’t be as awkward to kiss.” Snape sighed again, and this time Ron could really tell that he was only sighing to repress a laugh.

“You are definitely drunk,” he said. “Stay sober until the end of our early close tomorrow night, and then we can talk.”

* * *

Ron had finally been able to close the store. He had never thought that Christmas Eve would have been such a big shopping day, but it seemed like every wizard in New York had put off buying their presents until the last minute. Unfortunately, Ron had also decided to do that day by himself from open to close – a daunting prospect even on random Tuesdays and absolute hell on Christmas Eve.

So, he’d been in none too good a mood when he slipped out the door and finally locked it for the night. If it hadn’t been for the vaguely remembered promise to Snape, he would have gone home and sat around feeling even worse. Still, it was difficult not to feel his spirits lift when he turned around and saw the New York wizarding community on Christmas Eve.

The tightly packed rows of shops and flats were brightened by strands of fairy lights, evergreen wreaths and holly berries on every door. The street lamps had been charmed red and green, and Ron could faintly hear a choir singing holiday songs. Even the weather felt like the most stereotypical Christmas Eve possible – huge flakes falling gently and muffling the sound of the few shoppers still bustling about. Before he knew it, Ron was walking to the bar instead of Apparating, taking the opportunity to see and smell and just bask in the feeling of the holiday.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he thought back to what Christmas had been like when he was younger. He remembered gathering evergreen branches with his brothers, stuffing so many into the Burrow that it had smelled of fir for weeks afterwards. He remembered the Hogwarts Christmases, with the turkeys and the trees and the magical snow. He remembered Harry’s face when he saw Mum’s presents; he remembered how he and Hermione had never known what to get each other but appreciated the wildly off mark gifts anyways. He remembered how the sheer magnitude of the celebrations had made magic seem like something new and unknown even to him.

And, somehow, he had gone from that to this, walking to a bar to meet with an old teacher who he didn’t even like. On one level, it was depressing. He certainly would have found it depressing if he had heard the story from someone else. On a different level… he couldn’t remember the holiday feeling so magical for so little reason before. Maybe you had to upend your life to appreciate the fairy lights and the evergreens. Maybe he was just determined to get into a better mood before seeing Snape ruined it.

He opened the door with more enthusiasm than should have been possible at a dive bar on Christmas Eve. There were only two other customers there – a little old Chinese witch who he had seen before and a surly-looking stranger. Ron didn’t spare them a glance, choosing instead to look over at Snape, who was wiping down the bar.

“Happy Christmas,” Ron said. Snape was looking at him, an unidentifiable expression on his face.

“You came,” he said.

“Well, yeah. I promised, didn’t I?” Snape didn’t answer. “I think I remember making you a promise.”

“Not in so many words,” Snape said. “Besides, the word of a drunk man is hardly binding, and it is Christmas Eve.”

“We always did Hermione’s parents on Christmas Eve,” Ron explained. “I’m taking them to the Burrow tomorrow.” He suddenly grinned. “It’ll be the first time I’ve seen them for almost a week.”

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Snape said. “I – I didn’t expect-“ Ron realized, to his surprise, that Snape was nervous, actually nervous.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Ron said.

“No, it isn’t,” Snape said tersely. “I made a mistake inviting you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was so relieved to see a familiar face in this damned city that I – I lost all sense.”

“Hey, I was the one who came here again and got pissed. I’ve been feeling just as lonely in New York as you have, and I’ve only been here two months.” Ron hesitated, wondering whether he should continue, but in the end the decision was easy. He might as well get everything out in the open. “You could call that desperation or lack of sense, and the truth is that it was. But there wasn’t any desperation when I said that I wanted to kiss you.” Snape was frozen like the proverbial deer in headlights. Ron could feel the eyes of the two other patrons on him.

“And lack of sense?” Snape said quietly. Ron gave him a grin.

“Oh, plenty of that, I expect, but who thinks of sense when they fall in love.” Snape was looking a little overwhelmed, so Ron quickly clarified. “For a given value of falling in love, of course. I don’t really know you that well, and you only know me as a stupid kid. But the truth is that I want to get to know you better, and I want to kiss you, and I want to have a relationship with you beyond being two people who recognize each other in New York City.”

“Does such a relationship even exist?” Snape said, seeming to have recovered a little of his snark.

“I dunno,” Ron said. “Do you want to find out?”

* * *

It was actually amazing to see how quickly Snape could shoo out his few customers and finish his closing duties when he had the motivation. Not that Ron was under the impression that he was all that great of a motivation. No, Snape probably was just glad to have some sex that wouldn’t be a meaningless one-night stand, and Ron had to admit that he felt the exact same way.

“So, should we go to yours or mine?” Ron said when they were back out on the street. The carolers were gone now, and the fairy lights seemed dimmed by the snow, which was now falling hard and fast.

“Mine,” Snape said. “It’s just around the corner – here.” He led Ron up two flights of rickety stairs and into a tiny one-bedroom flat that looked as though it had been squeezed into half an attic. “Just a moment.” Snape disappeared into the bathroom, and Ron had a chance to look around.

Snape’s rooms did not reflect the man that Ron had thought he had known at all. He could recognize how seamlessly the Muggle and wizarding worlds combined in Snape’s life – the desk held both quills and spiral notebooks, a cauldron and a stove sat side by side in the kitchen, and there was even a telly crammed between two of the towering bookshelves.  The walls padded with books, the squishy sofa and armchair, and the roaring fire all combined to create a cozy, home-like atmosphere that made Ron ache. Compare to Snape’s, Ron’s life seemed to have an emptiness that was reflected in his own, nearly bare flat.

“Are you alright, Mr. Weasley?” Ron turned to look at Snape. The older man had changed from his work clothes to Muggle sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. His feet were bare, and it suddenly struck Ron just how vulnerable Snape was making himself by allowing Ron this close.

“You should probably call me Ron,” Ron said. Snape didn’t answer for a moment. “I mean, it would be pretty ridiculous for you to be calling me ‘Weasley’ while we’re…” He trailed off.

“How do you want to do this, Weasley?” Snape said abruptly, sounding completely out of his depth.

“Well,” Ron said, stooping down slightly so that their lips were only centimeters apart, “I thought we could start like this.” He closed the distance. Snape’s lips were unpleasantly dry, and for a moment Ron thought that the man wouldn’t respond at all. But then Snape melted, his mouth opening with a slight moan that shot right to Ron’s dick. It had been a long time, too long, and Ron wanted nothing more than to savor the feeling of someone in his arms again for a long as possible.

Snape pulled back, panting a little, and Ron had a moment of panic that he’d done something wrong. He needn’t have worried. Snape’s dark eyes, usually unreadable, were unimaginably tender. Wordlessly, the older man snaked an arm beneath Ron’s shirt, cool, clever fingers dancing over the freckles on his ribcage and tweaking his nipples.

“Fuck,” Ron said, pressing into the touches with some unknown instinct. “Bed?” Snape led him to the only other door in the flat, opening it to reveal a bedroom so normal it was almost disappointing. Ron would have loved to have sex in a dungeon. Still, he could make do.

Snape let out a huff of surprise when Ron suddenly took charge, maneuvering them so that the back of Snape’s legs bumped into the foot of the mattress. Ron settled between the older man’s thighs, thrusting against him so that their dicks rubbed together. Snape’s eyes squeezed together as he arched and let out a deep moan.

“Lube,” Ron said, panting slightly. Snape’s eyes opened, looking a little dazed. “Do you have any?”

“Top drawer,” Snape said, indicating the bedside table. Ron fumbled through it for the lube, eventually finding a half-used tube. When he turned, what he saw took his breath away. Snape had stripped down, and now he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking slightly nervous.

There wouldn’t have been anything spectacular about Snape’s body if Ron hadn’t known its history. Where others would have seen a slight paunch at the stomach, Ron remembered the famine-thin spy of the last years of the war. Even beyond Nagini’s bite, Snape was littered with scars, scars that any other person might have found off-putting or even disfiguring. All Ron wanted was to touch and taste and discover the origin of every one of them.

“I suppose I should strip as well, then,” Ron said.

“Unless you want to fuck me with your trousers around your knees,” Snape agreed. Ron would have been lying if he claimed that the idea wasn’t kind of hot, but somehow he knew that they both needed to be naked, at least this time. Feeling a little self-conscious, Ron unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his trousers, blushing when his stupid prick revealed itself to be more than half-hard.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just-“

“That is the goal here, is it not?” said Snape, sounding annoyingly amused. Ron glared at him.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, feeling his ears going even more red.

“Make me.” Ron shook his head.

“Not tonight,” he said. Snape blinked at the implication that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. “Erm, at least not right now – Oh, fuck it, just let me fuck you.” Snape’s smile, though hesitant, was completely genuine.

“Alright,” he said. “I think I can deal with that.”

* * *

Ron woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. He blinked blearily at the dim bluish light that shown through the window, for a moment not remembering where he was or why he was there, and then it struck him like a Bludger. He rolled over, panic fluttering in his chest until he saw the clock on the bedside table. He had never been more grateful for being forced into rising early out of habit.

“Tea’s on,” Snape said from the doorway. Ron yawned and tried desperately to flatten his sleep-shocked hair.

“Thanks,” he said. “I have a Portkey to catch in an hour.” Snape raised an eyebrow, and Ron shrugged. “It’s Christmas.”

“It is Christmas, isn’t it?” said Snape. He paused awkwardly for a moment. “So, where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?” Ron said, getting out of the bed and groping around the floor for his trousers.

“Where are we? What are we to each other, and what do you want us to be?” At Ron’s slight laugh, Snape crossed his arms and scowled. “I think you’ll find, Mr. Weasley, that I have even less patience for faffing about in relationships than in Potions Class. We’re both too old to be wasting our time not being on the same page.”

“Well, you’re right about that, at least,” Ron said, finally finding his trousers and pulling them on. “That’s what caused me and Hermione to fall apart, I think. Both of us had different expectations for the other, and so both of us felt like we were putting in all the work and getting nothing out of it. I mean, Merlin, it’s taken a divorce for me to appreciate just how much her organization helped keep Rose and Hugo on track.”

“Be that as it may, I am not Miss Granger,” Snape said. “I have no idea what your… expectations might be.” Ron shrugged.

“At that moment, I don’t really either,” he said. “Maybe – Maybe that we could keep in touch, have pretty awesome sex, and just… date like normal people do. At least for now.”

“Alright,” Snape said. “I think that would be alright for now.”

“Brilliant,” Ron said. He swooped in for a kiss which was only slightly marred by their mutual morning breath. Snape blinked, shocked, but then he smiled.

“Am I to expect that every morning?” he asked.

“Well, duh,” Ron said, herding the other man into his arms.

“Hmm, I could get used to this,” Snape said.

“Me too,” Ron admitted. “Hey, Severus?” Severus looked up at him questioningly. “Happy Christmas.”

“If you miss your Portkey because you can’t stop molesting me, I refuse to accept any responsibility,” Severus grumbled. Ron just laughed and went in for another kiss.


End file.
